THE HUNGER GAMES: Beyond the Games: Foxface
by NormalTeenageGirl
Summary: Tribute from District Five: Foxface. Somehow, in the course of the 74th Hunger Games, Finch lost her name and became the sneaky red-haired girl whom most of her competitors forgot. But she was always there; watching, plotting, waiting. And then it was her turn... But was it to kill - or be killed? This story is about who Foxface really is.
1. Introduction

Beyond the Games : Book One

**THE HUNGER GAMES**

_Foxface_

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By_ NormalTeenageGirl_

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Tribute from District Five: Foxface. Somehow, in the course of the 74th Hunger Games, Finch lost her name and became the sneaky red-haired girl whom most of her competitors forgot. But she was always there; watching, plotting, waiting. And then it was her turn... But was it to kill - or be killed?  
This story is about who Foxface really is.

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_This fanfiction contains a mix of OC's and book characters. Everything that belongs to Suzanne Collins belongs to Suzanne Collins. Everything else belongs to me._

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**Author's Note**

Hope you like it! Feel free to review or message me - feedback helps me know what my amazing audience likes. (: Happy reading!


	2. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE:

I am used to death. My country is built on it.

Every year, the government kills twenty-three children with the Hunger Games. Every year, one comes out of the Games alive, but haunted by the deaths that were necessary for their own survival.

I don't know which I will be.

But let me rewind, go back a few hours. Then those last statements will make more sense.

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I am sitting on my bed, naked, staring at the dress that my mother has laid out for me. It is beautiful, amber, like the color of my eyes and as soft as bird's down.

I hate it.

The Hunger Games have killed 1,679 children between the ages twelve and eighteen in the past seventy-three years. This year, twenty-three will be added to that number. Families will watch their number decrease by one, watch the way that their brother or sister, son or daughter, is slaughtered like a wild animal.

In Panem, this killing is a holiday.

Thus, the dress.

Finally, I am motivated by my older sister, Robin, who comes in and scolds me for being so slow. "We only have a few minutes left, Finch," she says sharply. "Can't you move faster?"

I don't reply. I am not offended by her words or tone. If I wasn't beyond understanding, I would have understood that it is her fear of today that fuels her temper. But even if understanding is the least of my worries today, I slip the dress on without complaint and stand limply in the middle of the floor as she fusses over my copper hair.

"Are you okay?" she asks, taking a step back to look at the final product of her efforts.

I can feel the waves of my silky hair as I shrug. "Are you? Is anybody?"

"Finch..."

I ignore her, sweeping past the mirror without a glance towards it.

The short stroll to the town square seems to stretch miles in the nervous silence that stretches between me, my parents and Robin. Peacekeepers then separate us, shoving Robin to the back with a group of eighteen-year-olds. I am pushed into the middle with the fifteen-year-olds.

It takes ten minutes for everyone to get there and settle down, and ten more for the mayor to speak about the history of Panem. By the time Clodia, a Capitol woman wearing bright yellow and green clothes, is ready to pull out the names of the tributes, I am bored and rather hungry.

"Girls first!" Clodia quips with a smile. I notice she has silver teeth.

Clodia's hand dips into the ball and scoops out a slip of paper.

"And the female tribute from District 5 is... Finch -"

My name rings in my ears. There is no one else in my district named Finch.

I am not even sure if she is done speaking before I start, in a daze, towards the stage. I climb the steps, shake the mayor's hand and stare out into the crowd, looking.

In the crowd, I find my sister's face. Distress scribbles wrinkles across her forehead, her eyes darting towards her fiance, who, at nineteen years of age, stands to the outside of the crowd with the adults.

And I know, even before Clodia asks.

There will be no volunteers. Not for me.

I move my gaze and stare out over everyone's heads, determined not to show emotion. Blank, I don't even pay attention to who is called as the male tribute. It doesn't matter.

He will die.

I will die.

No one wins in these games; even the Victor.

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**Author's Note**

I'm sorry that this chapter is so short, and so long in coming, but I do hope you like it! It seems that Finch's (Foxface's) voice is rather calculating, don't you think? (: Haha. Anyway, I'd be grateful for feedback, so review/PM me if you'd like.


	3. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO:

My mother and father are the only ones to come say goodbye to me. I don't know where Robin is.

Perhaps it hurts her too much to say goodbye.

She must not have been considering how much it hurt for me to know that I'd never see her again.

"You can win this, Finch," my father tells me. He is standing next to my mother, his arm around her. They both keep their distance; we are not an emotionally-oriented family. We do not make big deals out of small events.

My death. A small event.

I face their stiffness with formality. "Perhaps."

"Please, Finch." Tears well up in my mother's eyes for a moment before she blinks them back. "Try. Try to come back."

I do not respond, instead staring out of the only small grimy window in the room until a Peacekeeper comes to take me away.

I am just about to board the train that will take me to the Capitol, trying to ignore the bug-like cameras that zoomed in on my expressionless face, when I hear her.

Robin.

"Finch!" she screams, trying to push her way through the crowd. "Finch!"

My face betrayed my distress to the lenses - even if only for a second. Later, when I was curled up on the train, I would watch the replay of my last moments with my sister over and over again. How, with one foot on the train, I turned around and, subconsciously, reached my hand out.

Like I could bring her with me.

The peacekeepers arrive then, ushering me completely into the locomotive before they shut the doors. I rush to the window, hoping for one last look at Robin.

She has managed to get to the front of the crowd, only feet away from me. I pressed my right hand against the window, and Robin reached up to mirror me.

The train began to move.

I manage to read her last words on her before she disappears with the rest of my district.

_I'm sorry._

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I spend my time on the train avoiding. Hiding.

It is what I do best.

I am not brave, or big, or strong. I'm not skilled with brutal weapons, or forceful in my ways. I am small, slender, armed only with a clever mind. I run away when faced with an opponent. I use my tongue to work my way out of situations. I'm not easy to love - most people don't even know, or, at least, register, that I even exist. I'm a shadow: you might notice me occasionally, but usually I stay in the background. There, but only partly.

And yet I am supposed to try and win these games.

I watch the tapes of the other tributes' Reapings. There is a brutish boy from District Two whose murdurous expression makes me think that he is already in the arena, planning my death. His fellow tribute is a smaller, but no less muscular girl, who looks equally as dangerous. A girl who smiled when she was called, a boy who looked shocked when he heard his name - both from District One.

Names and faces flash by. A massive, dark-skinned boy from Eleven. A pixie-like twelve-year-old with him. A solidly built boy from Twelve who looked like he wanted to cry when he looked at his fellow tribute.

Her name is Katniss Everdeen. She was built sort of like me: not weak-looking like most of her district, but obviously not having had the same type of training that the Careers get. She is a survivor. A fighter.

She wasn't the first one called. Effie Trinket had called the name of a pretty little blond girl first.

Her sister.

Katniss volunteered for her. She didn't even wait for Effie to ask.

Maybe that is the reason I want her for my ally right then.

And then, on the screen, I see that wild, protective light in her eyes die as soon as she mounts the stage. I recognize the look.

I wear it a lot.

Katniss shut down. She closed out the world and kept her feelings to herself. She wouldn't trust me. She wouldn't trust anyone.

I can tell this just from looking at the video.

I don't blame her.

Anyone who wants to survive the Hunger Games eventually has to kill their allies.

And Katniss and I are both survivors.


End file.
